


Disconnect

by StickyShift (parallelDiversity)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, TW: Blood, it's energon but still, tw: gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parallelDiversity/pseuds/StickyShift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arcee wakes up post Jhiaxus-trashing, but they can't figure out where they are, what they're lying in, or what, fundamentally, is wrong. All they can tell is... something isn't right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so 4 AM and dicking around with the idea of post-Jhiaxus-trash-op identity crisis. Yes, Transformers are agender (though it's arguable since most look [to us] typically male), but Jhiaxus DID try to create a binary. This isn't delving too far into things, just a traumatic shock of waking up with your CNA rearranged and signals firing in opposite directions despite both trying to run the same course. 
> 
> Shhh, pretend it's good. 
> 
> TW: BLOOD/ENERGON ; TW: GORE ; TW: GENDER CRISIS

At first Arcee’s brain module couldn’t process onlining his optics. Every inch of his derma burned with pain. The bot tried shutting down consciousness for a second time, but attempting to put himself into a deep stasis hurt more than bobbing in and out of it.

A strange stickiness covered most of Arcee’s body, the thick smell of energon and rusted metal like a miasma in the air. Doing his best to stay still, the bot tried to recall what had happened. Flickers of memories flashed over his memory storage cortex, the pain of recollection sending shudders through his body.

Lips parted, fans skipping cycles and sputtering, Arcee onlined his optics at a painfully slow speed. The dull glow of his eyes illuminated his face softly, the world above him a tunnel of light. But something felt very, very wrong. Why was he so damn sticky?

Optics shuddering, Arcee began to assess his location. From what he could see, which was very little, he supposed he was in a hole. The light above him was probably the surface or at least the only exit his brain module was registering. The rest of the world was a pitch black stain, ink fading into the richest shadows where nothing could be seen.

Finally, vocalizer crackling like static, Arcee spoke.

“H-he… Hello?”

The bot’s body went rigid with shock. That wasn’t his voice… was it?

“Wh-what… is… this?”

Again, it sounded foreign. Paralyzing panic washed over the bot, his form stilling as if his spark had faded. It felt as if his life had been smudged out with a simple smash of Primus’ thumb. The bot opened his mouth again, lips shaking.

“Hello?”

Whose voice was coming out of his mouth?

Fighting the pain, Arcee gripped the world beneath him and slowly brought himself up. Inches that felt like agonizing centimeters, scream tearing through the darkness, the bot sat upright. Every inch of his cybernetic nervous system was screaming with pain, Arcee’s mouth hanging slack in a silent scream. His body convulsed in agony as his head was split by a knife-like pain. What the hell had happened.

“Ah… ngh… wh-what… what happened… who…?” He stammered.

The bot looked at his violently shaking hands. Optics bulging, the bot let out a horrified whimper. His hands were caked in dried energon. Trauma consuming him, Arcee looked at the rest of his body. Sure enough, the bot was painted in the lavender energon as if he’d swam in a pool of the dead. No scream could suffice for the horrible images his brain cortex replayed in his head. Only one word could come from his mouth.

“Jhi… axus…” The boy growled.

That voice. Whose voice was it? And why did he feel so… incomplete? His brain module felt overloaded with conflicting signals that constantly bombarded his processors. He didn’t even feel like a Cybertronian. He felt like something… less.

Stumbling over wobbling legs and trembling joints, Arcee stood to his full height. Though, if he thought he was scared before, it was worthless compared to the scene he saw below him.

Filling the ground beneath him was a thin layer of liquid. In the blinding white light glaring down from above, its color almost seemed bleached, but there was no mistaking it. Arcee covered his mouth as his entire systems jammed. Ankle-deep, Arcee stood in a pool of energon.

Instinctively the bot let out an energon-curdling scream. His body trembled violently as his optics shot around the floor. Twisted shards of metal and limbs stuck out from the pool of life fluids. Everything about the strange hole in the world was the stuff of nightmares. Even Nightmare Fuel couldn’t create such a horrific hallucination.

Fear throbbing through his systems, Arcee reached for his blades. He drew them from their sheath, the fiery energy illuminating the room. Instantly the bot regretted bringing light to what seemed like a tiny corner of hell. Arcee collapsed at the sight, processors unable to register what he was seeing. Corpses hung from the ceilings by whatever was left from them. Metal hung like ornaments, a faint breeze swaying them. Their sound clashed together like a wind chime from a night terror that Arcee couldn’t run from. Optics dangled, long smothered out by pain and hopelessness. Chassis’ were torn open and their sparks hollowed out. Heads were severed and lying in clusters in the energon-flooded floor.

Just when Arcee thought he could shut down his brain module after all a beam of light cut through the darkness. A door had been opened.

“Arcee…?” A voice called.

“N-no…” The bot stammered.

There was no time to think. Arcee lunged forward and picked up in a run. He activated his swords and barreled towards the light. This could be his only time to escape and there wasn’t much indicating that there would be a second opening.

Screaming and blinded by fear, the bot swung his blades. Hands gripped his frame tightly, but he kept fighting. He could not give in. He could not die. He would not be captured and hung like a decoration for the monstrous sparks working under the Decepticons. Arcee could not lose.

“Arcee!”

The bot’s optics finally shakily came into focus. A familiar face was looking down at him. Name… what was his name? What was this one’s name? What was going on?

“Oh… Primus,” Hot Rot sighed, the wind knocked out of him at the sight.

Arcee was soaked head to toe in fresh and dried smears of energon. His optics were wide with fear and visually traumatized. But most of all… something had fundamentally changed.

“H-Hot… Ngh… What… what’s… what happened… Hot Rod, I… I…”

But Arcee couldn't finish the sentence. Optics shorting, brain module nearly frying, the bot had collapsed. Fear had jammed up the bot's systems. All they could do... was lie there and pray Jhiaxus wasn't near. Primus, please... let him be far, far away.


End file.
